Page 18 of Diamond of the Season (Heiress #1)

Chapter

Eighteen

T he following afternoon, Rosalind stood in the foyer, pacing before the large windows that overlooked Grosvenor Square as she waited for Lord Issacs to arrive.

He was late, a surprising turn of events since she had been certain his interest in her had been genuine. Not that it mattered what any of the gentlemen felt for her after last night's ball, as much as she enjoyed the flirtations from other gentlemen, Ravensmere had captured her attention.

What Nathaniel had done to her, however, was an entirely different matter. It was a far more interesting turn of events that she wished to consider. To while away her day in her room and dissect in her mind. Relive every moment. Imagine other scenarios. So many delicious things…

Did he like her more than he wished for her to know ?

Was he jealous knowing she was about to go out with another gentleman?

Why had he fled her room so soon after giving her such exquisite pleasure the previous night, as if the devil's Hell Hounds were nipping at his boots?

She had been certain he would join her in her bed, make sweet love to her, ask for her hand in marriage, and sort everything out in her life. She would be married to a man who made her feel so much. Whenever she was around him, her body was not itself. It thrummed and ached, her skin prickled, and even her nipples responded. Another strange turn of events…

She bit her lip and shivered at the thought of the man who occupied her mind—a thought that would plague her far more often than ever before after his actions the previous night. She jumped back from the window as the man himself, the duke, trotted up before the house on his horse and jumped down, handing his mount to a waiting servant. Had he been out this morning? She narrowed her eyes, wondering where he may have gone to.

Just as Nathaniel started up the steps to the front door, a highly polished carriage arrived, and Lord Issacs pulled the brake before jumping down and handing the carriage to another servant.

Wanting to see the interaction, Rosalind stayed by the window, studying them with interest through the sheer curtains.

Lord Issacs nodded and spoke to the duke, and Nathaniel returned a benign yet confident exchange. They spoke for a minute or two, and as much as Rosalind tried to hear what they were saying, she could not. However, the flexing muscle in Nathaniel's jaw gave her some notion that the duke did not appreciate whatever it was Lord Issacs was saying.

If only she could be bold enough to go outside to join them, to see for herself what they were discussing.

But she had not seen Nathaniel since last night. She had shattered into a million delicious pieces in his arms and now, to face him, to see him again and try to act nonchalant, was a position she wasn’t sure she could do.

He made her all sixes and sevens, and yet, in her three-and-twenty years, he was the only man who ever had. Yet he was so accepting of her marrying another, of finding a husband who would suit her. She could not fathom what he was about.

Did he want her for himself or not? She could not wait forever. She was expected to marry this Season, and while marrying one's guardian was not what she had expected or what society would necessarily approve without raised brows, was there anything truly wrong with it? They were so distantly related that even she was not certain how they were family.

But he was determined to remain as he was, and perhaps that was because he had just inherited another title. The man was not without his many duties. She was merely one of them, and perhaps one he needed to rid himself of and as soon as may be, so he could focus on his responsibilities before next year’s Season with Lady Evangeline.

Rosalind took a deep, fortifying breath and started for the door, thanking a footman as he opened it. She stepped out into the warm, afternoon sunlight and pasted a smile on her lips, determined not to feel shamed or nervous in front of anyone, especially Nathaniel.

She had done nothing wrong or shameful. Well, maybe a little wrong… But she had experienced what she hoped most women would at some point in their lives. There was nothing criminal with what God had given to fulfill one's desire.

"Your Grace, Lord Issacs, good afternoon," she said, meeting both gentlemen's eyes as she slipped on her gloves, determined to appear as natural and unaffected as possible. Yet within her, her blood pounded loudly in her ears and her skin prickled from being so close to Nathaniel.

Her attention dipped to his hands—fingers that had caressed her most private parts—and she almost bit her lip with longing. She met his eyes, and the heat in his not only warmed her, but they also reduced her to an imaginary pile of ash on the steps.

"Are you ready for our outing, Lady Rosalind? I'm sorry I was late. I was waylaid," said the marquess in his measured tone.

"You were late, Issacs? What kept you?" The duke's tone was reproachful, and Rosalind almost felt pity for the marquess, before a blush stole over his handsome cheeks and he stumbled over his words. She could not help but wonder if he had been engaging in activities similar to hers the previous night.

Taking pity on him, Rosalind moved to his side and slipped her arm about his. "Do not pry, Your Grace. There are many things that could have kept his lordship from our outing, but he is here now, and that is all that matters."

"I heartily agree." Lord Issacs smiled at her, though she could see he had been shamed by the duke and had possibly revealed something the marquess preferred to keep private.

Rosalind's maid stumbled out of the door and was soon assisted to sit on the back of the carriage.

"You're going about Hyde Park, nowhere else mind. I do not want Lady Rosalind's reputation at risk, Issacs. I know you well. Do not forget that we are friends. "

"Of course, Your Grace. There is no reason to be concerned. We are chaperoned and merely enjoying a turn about the park. I shall bring Lady Rosalind home so you may keep her under lock and key until the ball this evening," Issacs said, a mocking tilt to his lips.

The Haden ball was scheduled for this evening, and already the modiste had delivered one of her new gowns, much to Lady Smithe's annoyance. The moment her companion had seen the deep-cobalt gown, she had appeared both offended and annoyed simultaneously.

Lord Issacs walked to the carriage, and Rosalind waited at the side so he might help her climb up. Nathaniel's hand wrapped about her upper arm, and he pulled her away from the vehicle, glaring at Lord Issacs as he did so before they were situated a short distance to ensure privacy.

"He's not to touch you. If he does, I'll rip his wandering fingers from his hand. Do you understand, Lady Rosalind?" The deep, rumbling warning from Nathaniel had the opposite effect on her than he expected. His warning only fueled her desires for his grace. She grinned, unable to hide the excitement that thrummed through her veins at his concern, his possessiveness over her.

Perhaps he was more covetous than even he realized.

"Why stop there, Your Grace? Mayhap you could rip his hands from his arms or his arms from his body," she teased as she stepped close, nearly brushing her breasts against his chest. "If you do not wish for me to be courted by his lordship, you could always ask Lord Issacs to leave and step aside for others. I would not object, but if I am to find a husband, such an order would be seen as odd, to say the least."

She was teasing him, and he knew it well. His nose flared, and the muscle in his jaw flexed. Hell, he was handsome, and the longing that percolated within her was almost too much to bear. She wanted to run her hands through his hair, hold him close as she did last night, clutch him to her as he made her shatter in pleasure.

She wanted everything he could give her, even his very soul.

"Do not sit too close to him. Do not show an eagerness to be in his company. Do not dare touch him, Rosalind."

"I will link my arm with his. Is that allowed? I do not wish to fall from the carriage, Your Grace. I think you're being unreasonable."

In that sense he was, but still, she adored that he was warning her away from the marquess. How delightful it was for a man to be jealous without even realizing that was exactly what he was doing.

He pursed his lips, and the scowl between his brows deepened. "Hold on to the carriage. There is no need for you to touch his person. Do you understand?"

"But if his lordship continues to court me and asks for my hand, I shall do a lot more than link my arm with his. I shall have to allow him to touch me wherever it pleases him then."

His face turned thunderous, and for a moment Rosalind thought she had gone too far.

In fact, perhaps she had.